


Wonder Woman

by Jaspis17



Category: Original Work
Genre: Autobiography, Coming of Age, Grandmothers, Past, Past Abuse, Past Lives, Past Relationship(s), Past Tense, Real Life, experiences
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:28:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaspis17/pseuds/Jaspis17
Summary: A collection of short stories in the anthological order of my grandmother's true experiences. Who is one of the greatest women I have ever known in my life. And who is my personal superhero.





	1. Easter Celebration "Or something like that."

My grandmother’s earliest memory is of a doll. 

It was during a festival being held to celebrate the Easter holiday. “Or something like that.” As my grandmother puts it. Although her memory of the festival is foggy at best, she clearly remembers the doll itself. As if it’s been permanently etched into the back of her mind ever since she laid her doe-eyes on it.

The doll itself was very cubicle in shape. Which made it look like it was fat. This was because the doll was made out of cardboard rather than plastic, as many would initially think of when hearing mentions of a doll for little girls. With no clothing, the doll was painted entirely purple, with a silly cartoonish face drawn on. In what must have been a permanent marker. Finally with hair made out of thick strands of yarn and fake jewels accented across its chest.

And my grandmother was completely and utterly infatuated with it. 

So much so that she begged and begged her mother, who we all know in the family as Mama Páz, to buy the doll for her. And at first, her mother answered her with an outright “No.” Explaining to my grandmother that if she bought the doll she wouldn’t have enough money to buy their tortillas for everyone. Which was half of their daily dinner, the other being beans.

However my grandmother was never one to give up so easily, so what else could she do but press on? And after pleading, even more, her mother finally caved. Sacrificing the money she needed for that night’s dinner to buy my grandmother the carton doll. Of course, Mama Páz did not want my grandmother to think this was an easy choice. So she warned her, “Take care of this doll. And make sure nothing happens to it because it was expensive.” 

But what is a child to do except dismiss a warning and have it come straight into one ear and out of the other? 

So when visiting some of her “friends.” My grandmother brought her doll along with her. And as little girls do they played with their little dolls. Her friends with their plastic Barbies from America, and my grandmother her cardboard doll from the Easter festival. And no matter how dense children can be when perceiving a warning, they can be just as cruel. 

“We can take baths with our dolls but not you!” That is what my grandmother remembers her friends telling her as they splashed their barbies around in the bathtub. Embarrassed my grandmother pushed back and retorted, “Yes I can.” And sent her poor doll plunging into the fatal water of the now murky waters. And just as soon as she realized her mistake, the doll had become completely soaked. The cheap purple paint becoming extremely diluted in the bathtub water. The doll’s body itself was now turning into a crumpled and soggy mess, the cheap glue of the fake jewelry giving way almost immediately. And a damp bundle of yarn to boot. To which my grandmother could only stare in shock and horror as her prized treasure deteriorated into nothingness.

The show was more than entertaining to her friends though. Who laughed and snickered like hyenas. Enjoying the show that proved them right. 

My grandmother could care less about them however, her mind was on more pressing matters. And so when coming home, sure as fate, Mama Páz had become enraged with the news of my grandmother’s doll. Giving my grandmother a small beating for her mistake. And for making her waste the money they could have used for food. My grandmother recollects this memory as bittersweet. Not mad at her cruel friends, or upset that her mother beat her. But happy that she had a doll all to herself, and sad that she couldn’t have it forever. 

That is my grandmother’s earliest memory.


	2. Strawberry Jam Jar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My grandmother and the broken glass jar of strawberry jam on the kitchen floor.

My grandmother recalls this memory with extreme embarrassment. Glossy eyes and the small remnants of tears beginning to form at the edges of them while she had told me this story.

My grandmother never really had much to eat as a child. In fact, all she ever had to eat was the same daily tortillas and beans. Beans and tortillas. Tortilla and beans. 

It’s not because her mother, Mama Páz, refused to cook anything else for her children. But rather she simply couldn’t afford anything else. There were even some days where she didn’t have enough money for their tortilla and beans.

But no matter how hungry, how famished, and how absolutely starved my grandma and her siblings were. Mama Páz always told her never to accept food from others. That even if my grandmother’s stomach roared and bellowed in pleading agony. My grandmother should not- could not allow herself to be seen as vulnerable. Or in need of anything from anybody. That if my grandmother went over to a friend’s house and their parents offered her a plate at the dinner table. Her only option for an answer should be, “No thank you, I have already eaten.” And leave it at that. 

Of course, though, my grandmother wanted nothing more than to devour a plate full of the golden-brown roast chicken and savory mashed potatoes that filled her senses when the aroma came into contact with her nostrils. To have just a taste of the orange juice that she just knew had been freshly squeezed that morning. But no, these were luxuries she could not afford nor possess. 

So if she could not eat the food that was presenting itself to her, surely she would be allowed to at least indulge and simply gaze over the food? And fantasize about it? Even if it was just to mentally picture how the sweetest of sweet corn would taste as they danced on her uncultured taste buds. Which senses had been dulled due to the constant consumption of dry tortillas and bland brown beans. 

But she had known better to do that either. After all, Mama Páz’s words of simply admiring the food of others had been etched into my grandmother’s mind as well. “Even if the food is put right in front of you. Don’t even look at it. Look anywhere but at the food. Count the spots on the wall behind the chair in front of you. Stare at your fingernails. Because if they catch you looking at their food, they’ll start to think you really are hungry. And then they’ll know you are hungry.”

So, what if I told you there was a moment. Only a single moment. Where my grandmother was presented with a single jar, just a single jar of sweet, beautiful, tantalizing strawberry jam. With no Mama Páz, no friends, and especially no adults to witness the scene. Just God and herself, and that broken jar of strawberry jam. 

The day in question, my grandmother had been working for a lady whose name has been long forgotten by her. In fact, all my grandmother could recall about this woman was the fact that she had been extremely tall. But then again, all adults are giants when compared to children. So even this may be a misrepresentation. But that’s beside the point. What matters is that as a child, my grandmother had done odd jobs here and there for this lady, and even many others. Throwing trash out, cleaning windows, mopping the floor. Just for a pretty penny or two that she could help her family with. 

So, having done odd jobs for this lady before, my grandmother had been left alone. The woman making her way and doing whatever it was that she had to do at that moment. But before the lady had left my grandmother to her work, she tasked her with a simple request. To clean the mess of what once was a perfectly fine strawberry jam jar on the kitchen floor. Which the lady had accidentally knocked off the counter table before my grandmother had just arrived in front of her house. 

Now all alone in the kitchen and left to her duties. My grandmother looked down at the strawberry jam jar. And the first thing she had noticed. Was how...beautiful, the plumps and chunks of strawberries looked covered in the shimmering red jam. And how delectable it must taste. 

Of course, Mama Páz had taught her well enough, but God had taught her even better. And when presented with an opportunity such as this. It must have been presented by his hand alone. And which child of God would spit at his offering hands. 

Still, my grandmother had to look around first. Still internalizing her mother’s words. And once she knew she had been completely alone with God as the only witness.

My grandmother had kneeled down to her knees in front of the mess...And began to gently brush away any and all pieces of broken glass with both of her hands in one swift motion. Staring directly at the slightly dirty strawberries the entire time.

And as soon as she had finished separating the two, she bent down even further. Supporting herself with both of her arms just underneath her chest. Her hands pressed against the cold tile floor. And without a second thought. Began to lick at the plump jam-covered strawberries. Wiping them clean off the floor. In swift and clean motions. Not bothering to waste any time as she hurried and rushed before she could be seen by anyone other than God.

My grandmother has only told me this story once. A story she couldn’t even share with her own two daughters. She never told me what happened after she had eaten the jam. Whether or not she had been caught by the lady. Or even if she had accidentally cut her tongue with the sharp edges of the broken jar glass. No. Instead, she ended the story with something along these lines.

She had never before eaten something so...delicious.

This was the first time my grandmother had been able to eat someone else’s food without guilt.


End file.
